


Prompt fills and other CMBYN one-shots from my Tumblr

by angelinthecity



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017), Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF, Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types, Call Me by Your Name - André Aciman
Genre: Fluff, Kissing, M/M, Mild Smut, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-08
Updated: 2020-02-06
Packaged: 2020-02-28 14:49:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 5,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18758623
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelinthecity/pseuds/angelinthecity
Summary: This is a collection of the little CMBYN-related fic things I’ve written and postedon my Tumblrand wanted to archive also here on AO3. I will be adding to this if more happen to come along over time.Chapters:1. Armie/Timmy: Self-indulgent Sunday morning drabble inspired by Saturday nights in Dallas2. Armie/Timmy: Kiss prompt, “Staring At The Other’s Lips, Trying Not To Kiss Them, Before Giving In” kiss3. Armie/Timmy: Kiss prompt, “Exhausted Parents” kiss4. Elio/Oliver: Kiss prompt, “Exhausted Parents” kiss5. Armie/Timmy: Kiss prompt, “A long lingering kiss, to savor it all”6. Elio/Oliver: Kiss prompt, “Watching you undress and I couldn’t help it kiss”7. Armie/Timmy: Kiss prompt, “Wrong place, wrong time, but I don’t care kiss” and “A kiss because I’ve missed you”8. Elio/Oliver: Kiss prompt, “Imagined kiss” and “Hand kiss” and “A kiss meant to seduce”9. Elio/Oliver: Kiss prompt, “Early morning kisses”10. Armie/Timmy: Kiss prompt, “Kissing you anywhere but where you want kiss”





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Self-indulgent Sunday morning drabble inspired by Saturday nights in Dallas. 
> 
> (Originally posted on Oct 28, 2018.)

“I know you have an early flight, and I’m under strict orders not to keep you up too late, but I told her that since timing’s not been our side lately, we couldn’t miss this chance to properly catch up in person.”

“Catch up? Is that what the kids call it these days?” he reached behind me to lock the door and then linked his arms all the way around my waist.

I pushed his hair back from his forehead. “This is getting out of control.”

“It’s in an in-between phase, I’m growing it back. You should be thankful.”

“I’m thankful for this.” I kissed him hungrily and made sure he knew his trip here hadn’t gone to waste. “And that you didn’t wear anything with buttons on them, they always slow me down.”

His jacket was already gone and he lifted his arms up so I could pull off his t-shirt.

“Peach-colored, really?” I mumbled to myself as I threw it on the floor.

He tilted his head inviting me to stroke my thumb down the column of his throat and soon I forgot the colors of anything beyond his pale, milky skin.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was: _Armie/Timmy, “66. Staring At The Other’s Lips, Trying Not To Kiss Them, Before Giving In” kiss_
> 
> (Originally posted on Apr 17, 2019.)

“This was supposed to be just a normal hanging out weekend.”

“I know.”

“We were supposed to stop doing this.”

“I know.”

“So stop looking at me like that.”

“Make me.”

Armie groaned. Timmy wasn’t even close to him. Jet-lagged, he had flopped on the couch in Timmy’s generic hotel room as soon as he had arrived and Timmy had emerged from the bathroom only now, standing in the doorway in a t-shirt that was noticably tighter on him now than the last time Armie had seen him. But the pull of his gaze, the telling twitch of his lips – the reach of his power over Armie was well beyond the twelve feet now between them. In fact, it seemed to be well over six thousand miles, or whatever the distance between their locations still had been yesterday.

The distance now shrank to zero when Timmy walked over and climbed unceremoniously on top of him, caring little that there wasn’t really room for two people on the couch. His hands found their familiar place bracketing Armie’s jaw, his weight on top of him felt as it always did.

“I know what we said last time,” Timmy agreed, “–but what’s the point in having you come visit me and not being able to kiss you?”

Armie knew there had been very real reasons for why they had come to their mutual agreement after the last visit, but they all escaped him now. Especially when Timmy pouted and licked his lips like that.

“Fine,” Armie said and in a nanosecond he had Timmy’s tongue in his mouth like it never had left.

“But I am going to sleep in my own room tonight,” Armie insisted, when Timmy finally pulled away, lips swollen and out of breath, and laid his head on Armie’s chest. “Because I don’t want the maids to start reporting back that that tall guy’s beds never get slept in.”

“Yeah, we’ll see about that,” Timmy said and grabbed the hem of Armie’s shirt, contemplating whether he would slide his hands underneath it or just pull it off right away.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was: _Armie/Timmy, “23. Exhausted Parents” kiss_
> 
> (Originally posted on Apr 17, 2019.)

Armie hears Timmy’s footsteps in the hallway, descending the stairs and then he is already in the living room, slumping down next to him in the dark, the only sounds coming quietly from the tv.

“I think that one stuck,” Timmy sighs. “I don’t want to jinx it, but it looked like they fell asleep now.”

“Still, it was only the third try. Impressive. It usually takes at least four stories and two glasses of water. I told you, they adore you.”

“It’s just the newness of it all. It will wear off.”

“Promise?”

Timmy looks puzzled, so Armie needs to elaborate: “That you’ll stick around long enough for it to wear off?”

“I’ll try.” Armie swears Timmy’s smile lights up the room more than the glow of the tv.

“They already know to miss you when you’re off somewhere shooting. Or in New York.”

“Are they the only ones?”

“Obviously. I don’t miss you at all. None.”

“You don’t miss this?” Timmy whispers as he curls agains Armie’s side, nuzzling his neck.

Armie stretches his arm to wrap it around Timmy, pulling him closer. “Nope.”

“Or this?” A tiny lick of a kiss on his earlobe.

“Absolutely not. And definitely not this,” Armie adds as he tips Timmy on his back on the couch and makes a beeline to press a deep kiss on his lips. The exhaustion from the day melts away now that it’s just the two of them.

“Why is your couch so soft,” Timmy mumbles as Armie’s weight on top of him makes him sink deeper into the cushions. “I’m never gonna be able to get up. I’ll just be stuck here for forever.”

“That’s the plan,” Armie says tenderly and pushes a curl away from his forehead.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was: _Elio/Oliver: “23. Exhausted Parents” kiss_
> 
> (Originally posted on Apr 17, 2019.)

I don’t know how Marzia tricked us into it, maybe we were so dazed from our lust-filled week of reminiscing in Rome that she caught us off-guard when Oliver and I returned to the villa.

“She’s easy, she’s seven, you can’t drop or break her.”

Oliver had already brought up two sons, so it should have been easy, spending one day with Marzia’s seven-year-old daughter while she took her father to a nearby city for a specialist’s appointment. In all honesty, she would not have needed to trick us into anything. I owed her for everything that she did during the years of my own father’s illness.

Still, Oliver quickly found out that little girls can be much trickier than little boys whereas I realized she had inherited her mother’s persuasive skills. She was a serene child, but at the age where she had started to understand that people fell in love, and she wanted to hear everything about us and how we had met twenty years ago.

We told her the diplomatic, age-appropriate version, but she supplied us with numerous follow-up questions as she sat in the backyard with us, sipping apricot juice through her straw.

“So you played so beautifully that Oliver’s heart flew to you?” she asked me.

“I guess so,” I smiled.

“I know so,” Oliver added.

“And you, you stole a postcard from Elio. My mom says stealing is wrong.”

“I did take it, but I have returned it to him now. I needed it to keep me company while Elio was so far away.”

“Did you look at it every day?” An innocent question, but it made Oliver blush and he couldn’t lie to a child.

“Yes, almost every day.”

When Marzia came to pick her up in the evening, we were physically rested but emotionally exhausted.

That night, Oliver teased me as we were getting ready for bed. “Good thing she didn’t ask about your fruit consumption that summer.”

“You’re never going to let me live that one down, are you,” I said, stretching and yawning, getting comfortable on my side of the bed, which was always empty by the morning as I woke up safely within Oliver’s arms, both of us squished to his half of my old bed.

“Your peach adventure was the final nail in my coffin. After that, I was certain I was never going to find anyone else like you. So I may have stolen the postcard like she said, but you stole my heart.”

“And unlike you, I’m never giving it back,” I said and reached over to tousle his hair that was now slightly thinner than twenty years ago, but still just as lovely.

Oliver took a hold of my hand and pressed a kiss to my palm, before pulling me close. “No need. I will gladly accept your lips as compensation.”

I licked a path on his lower lip like I had done for the first time that summer when said heart was first stolen, but after that my lips were his.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was: _Armie x Timmy: “A long lingering kiss, to savor it all”_
> 
> (Originally posted on Jan 23, 2020.)

From 10am to four in the afternoon, between memorizing his lines and running errands such as making sure he has beer for later and stopping at the Strand, Timmy keeps checking the app. He receives Armie’s text already before the flight status changes to landed on the screen: “ _Almost there_.” Once again breaking the phone rules, apparently. Hopefully he hasn’t gotten into trouble for that—although, as Timmy has witnessed several times, he can easily smooth talk himself out of those, turning surly flight attendants into giggling schoolgirls and boys in his wake.

An hour and fifteen minutes later, another text that now coincides with the buzzer of the door. “ _Here_.” Timmy presses the button to let him up, opens the door and leaves it ajar to listen to the familiar footsteps and grunts approaching in the stairs, turning round the corner, and then he’s here, all bags and tight jeans and leather jacket and short hair and an even shorter beard. Timmy has asked him not to shave and he’s kept his promise for now, even though it’ll eventually have to go when the shows start.

“Well, hello there.” Armie smiles as he notices Timmy in the doorway, barefoot.

Timmy shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “Hello.”

It’s been so long since their last time that seeing him in the flesh instead of on the five-inch screen of his phone makes bouts of shyness bubble up in Timmy’s stomach. But when Armie gets to him and pulls them both out of the hallway and into Timmy’s apartment they all go away, and there’s nothing left but a long, lingering kiss where Armie’s hands hold his face like a desert wanderer holding his bowl of water at an oasis, drinking slowly to his heart’s content. When it starts to look like Armie has had his fill, Timmy surges up for one more kiss, just to savor the reunion, and doesn’t let go for a long time.

After, he lays his chin on Armie’s shoulder and notices the two big bags Armie has dropped by the door. Timmy asks why he didn’t take them to his rental place first.

Armie looks confused. “What would I do with them there? I’ll come home to you every night after the show anyway.”

“You will?” Timmy’s face lights up.

“Of course. What did you think I was going to do?”

“But where are you going to sleep?”

Timmy’s smile gets even wider when Armie takes him by the hand, pulls him into the small bedroom and falls into his narrow, unmade bed. “Here. Where are _you_ going to sleep?”

Timmy climbs to lie on top of him, knees bent on either side of Armie’s hips, chest against chest. “Right here.” As the strong arms wrap around him, he adjusts himself into a better position, settles his nose in the crook of Armie’s neck, and repeats: “Right here.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was: _Elio/Oliver: “Watching you undress and I couldn’t help it kiss”_
> 
> (Originally posted on Jan 23, 2020.)

“It went so badly,” I sighed and tugged at my bowtie, irritated; threw it on the cupboard when it finally came loose. My aim was bad and it fell to the floor.

Oliver looked at it but let it be. He had lived with me for long enough to know that every now and then, I came back from a performance that I wasn’t happy with and he would just need to wait and let me get it all out.

“What happened?”

I took off my jacket, dropped it on the armchair in the corner. “There weren’t any wrong notes—”

“Of course not.”

“—but somehow I couldn’t breath life into the aria and then the variations obviously—obviously—started to sound like lame attempts at covering up that elementary flaw at the beginning.”

I pulled at my silver cufflinks but with my mind racing and replaying the performance over and over again, I couldn’t get them off, so finally I held out my arm and Oliver calmly took them off. “Obviously.”

I started unbuttoning my shirt, pacing back and forth in our bedroom. “And I knew I shouldn’t have omitted all the ornaments, but I thought it would be more powerful if it was simplified, you know? That’s what Kempff did, too.”

“Maybe you can try playing them the next time.”

“Yeah,” I huffed. “Next time. If they ever ask me back.”

The shirt came off and my undershirt, too. “Bach would have turned in his grave in Thomaskirche if he’d heard me butcher his variations tonight.”

“If that’s really even him in there,” Oliver reminded me. We had read about the mystery surrounding Bach’s earthly remains on our road trip through Germany the summer before.

“Exactly. Well, he would have turned in his unmarked graveyard grave, then.”

I was so overcome with frustration that I had unbuttoned my dress pants and stepped out of them, taken off my socks and hooked my thumbs in the waistband of my underwear to pull them down, too, until I noticed that Oliver hadn’t said anything in a while. I looked over and there he was, sitting on the bed in nothing but sweatpants. He had probably been ready for bed for hours, and had just been waiting for me to come home, as he always did so patiently.

My exasperation began to thaw at the sight of his safe and steady form. He had that look in his eyes, the one that I had first seen that midnight decades ago and that had since then forced us out of several libraries, the Carnegie Hall at intermission, and even our own wedding reception.

“What?” I stopped, smiled and let go of the waistband with a snap.

“Come here,” he said, held out his hand and pulled me between his spread thighs. “You know I adore you when you’re quiet, chewing on your pencil and scribbling on your music sheets, or when you dazzle me with everything that you know. But I really can’t resist you when you get like this, all passionate and ambitious and naked.” He pressed his lips on my belly, kissed a birthmark a little to the right, the one that was his favorite.

I raked my fingers through his hair, played with the part he said was getting gray but where I found nothing but golden hair whenever he made me check. “You can’t?”

“No.”

“Even if you tried?” I asked as he kissed my left side and then got rid of the last piece of my clothing with the experience of someone who had done that hundreds, if not thousands, of times. I wanted to melt against him when he kissed my hip and lingered there.

“Even if.”

“Good. I’ll then have a way to get you back if you ever try to escape.”

He pulled me to his lap. “Does it feel like I’m going to escape?”

His sweatpants were worn thin, and I felt everything that he implied. “No,” I said, leaning close to his face and sliding my lips along his, waiting for him to make the first move and kiss me properly.

“What does it feel like, then?”

“That in five minutes I’m not going to even remember having been to Sala Petrassi tonight, let alone butchering the Goldberg Variations there,” I managed to mumble before he captured my lips all to himself.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was: _Armie/Timmy: “Wrong place, wrong time, but I don’t care kiss” and “A kiss because I’ve missed you”_
> 
> This is kind of a sequel to Chapter 5.
> 
> (Originally posted on Jan 24, 2020.)

“Okay, so that’s it for today. Great first day, everyone! See you tomorrow at ten.” The director pushes her chair back and everyone follows her lead. Armie stays behind as the others start to leave, wants to get a moment with her alone to clarify his character’s motivation in the third scene, but they’ve only managed to find the correct page of the script when someone calls for him at the door.

“Mr Hammer, there’s someone here for you!”

Armie looks up from the script and the production assistant who keeps calling him Mr Hammer despite Armie’s insistence that there’s really no need, points at Timmy who’s standing at the door of the rehearsal studio. One hand in a pocket, the other awkwardly straching the back of his head.

“Hi, I thought I’d stop by to see if you wanted to get dinner or something,” he says, uncertain.

“Oh.” Armie looks from Timmy to the director and then back to Timmy. “Well—”

The director interrupts him, says she actually really needs to get going to pick up her kids. “Can we continue tomorrow?”

“Sure, sure.”

She packs her bag and picks up her coat, whooshes out the door past Timmy, leaving them alone in the studio. Timmy steps in, closes the door behind him, looks around. “It’s very bright in here,” he comments on the fluorescent lighting.

Armie smiles. “You can’t have a table read and not see the script. But I wasn’t expecting to see you here. Is everything okay?” he asks as he walks over to Timmy and reaches past him to switch off the ceiling lights and then caresses his cheek, pushes fingers in Timmy’s hair. “Better now?”

“Much better,” says Timmy as they are left with only the neon glare of the Theater District to light up the room. He turns his head to kiss Armie’s wrist. “I just thought we could go have dinner somewhere, to mark your first day here. I mean, you must be hungry by now.”

“Oh, I’m hungry alright,” Armie says and leans closer, crowds Timmy against the wall and positions him in the narrow space between the framed portraits of Gwen Verdon and Harold Prince. “Just not for food. Well, for food, too. But mainly this.”

He plants a lingering kiss behind Timmy’s ear and he still hasn’t shaved and Timmy almost makes Gwen fall off the wall when the shivers make him squirm.

“It wasn’t the only reason, though. I missed you.” He wraps his arms around Armie’s neck, and kisses him where he can reach, jaw, earlobe.

“You just saw me this morning.”

“But you were away for so many months before that. I couldn’t stay away now that you were just across town.”

Armie straightens himself up, takes hold of Timmy’s face. “You thought I would go to my place from here and then be too tired to come over. And you came here to make sure that wouldn’t happen. Am I correct?”

“Maybe.”

Armie kisses his pursed lips. “You didn’t have to worry. I’m not going there. I like being at your place.”

“But it’s so small.”

“I don’t care. I like that small bed of yours,” Armie says as he kisses him again. “I like that you’re forced to sleep within my arms and that I’m—”

“HELLO?”

They both freeze at the booming voice behind them.

“IS THERE STILL SOMEONE IN H—oh my, oh man, sorry,” croaks the old janitor as he peeks in and, just as quickly, out of the door.

Their compromising position leaves no room for guessing and Timmy giggles, but Armie pulls away and groans. “Great, now I’ll have to find a way to keep him quiet.”

“Oh come on, he works on Broadway, he’s seen much worse,” Timmy stops him from worrying and pulls Armie back to him again as soon as they hear the footsteps fading away.

“Maybe a nice bottle of brandy would do as a bribe,” Armie ponders between the kisses.

“We can stop by at the liquor store on our way home. But you may want to stock up,” Timmy suggests and adds with innocent eyes, lashes fluttering: “You know, if this ever happens again.”

Armie pokes him on the side and then closes him into his embrace and holds him tight. “Yeah, something tells me I’d better get a whole case while I’m at it.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was: _Elio/Oliver: “Imagined kiss” and “Hand kiss” and “A kiss meant to seduce”_
> 
> (Originally posted on Jan 25, 2020.)

I sat on my bed, tapped at my lip slowly with my ring finger. I decided to do it: I got up, opened the door to the balcony and took a peek over to his side. No sight of him, only the treetops swished gently against the balustrade in the night. They weren’t bright green anymore but lush, late summer emerald—the first sign that the season would be coming to an end one day and so would my time with him.

I came back inside, paced aimlessly, trying to come up with something I could rustle and thus let him know that I was still awake. I knew he was in his room; I had heard him come in before the cicadas had ceased their symphony.

This had gone on for several nights now, me wanting to go into his room, wanting him to come to mine. I had already imagined seeing him on the balcony once, through the gauze of the curtains, but when I went to check, he was gone. In the daytime we read, biked, and swam, and nothing was mentioned of the nights.

 _If you came, Oliver, just once, I would let you in, no questions asked,_ I thought. He would sit here on my bed, right next to me and I would know, and he would know. His thigh would touch mine and I would take his hand, kiss the wrist, open the palm and kiss that too, then the place where his fingers started, and I would let him decide if he’d want to place a finger past my lips, and I would suck it in a clumsy attempt to seduce him, which he would do much better when he would hook that slick finger into the neck of my shirt and pull me to him. He would bring his lips close to the corner of my mouth and ask if this was really what I wanted. I would nod. _Yes._

I would have liked to be seduced like that, with his lips lingering on the corner in a kiss that wasn’t really a kiss, and he would have held my face so that I couldn’t have turned my head to have him kiss me full on the mouth until he was ready to.

I didn’t know how he would kiss but I imagined it would be gentle, my top lip between both of his, the tip of his tongue finding its way into my mouth, opening it up for him to explore. Or maybe he would be rough, taking what he needed as soon as he had gotten the permission and he would have gladly taken everything I would have given him.

He never came that night and I went to bed alone, tossing and turning with frustration well past midnight, not knowing yet that I would get to take him to Monet’s berm the next day.

 

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was: _Elio/Oliver: “Early morning kisses”_
> 
> (Originally posted on Jan 28, 2020.)

I had to be at Termini at 6:26am, which was right around the time of sunrise. Thus, it was before dawn when I slid my score sheets into my well-served leather briefcase, downed the last drop of coffee from the bottom of my mug already knowing I would need to find more as soon as I got to the station, and went back to the bedroom one more time to say goodbye to Oliver.

It wasn’t going to be a goodbye for long; he was to take a later train that afternoon after his Friday classes at the Sapienza were over and join me in Naples. Before the performance at Sala dei Baroni in the evening, my day was going to be occupied by teaching at a string of workshops, so I wouldn’t even have time to miss him until he would already arrive.

Standing in the doorway, I watched him as he was sound asleep on our narrow bed that we were planning to replace but never got around to actually do, his left arm resting on the pillow above his head and lashes peaceful. What a joy to be able to see him like this every morning! I sat down next to him on the edge of the bed, trying not to wake him up but hoping he would. My finger traced his hairline, it still hadn’t receded at all, which kept surprising and pleasing us both.

He made a sound, sensing through sleep that I was there, but didn’t open his eyes. I kissed his eyelids, said I was almost out the door but wanted to say bye before I left. No need to wake up. Whenever we tried to sleep in, we often woke up to the sun shining in our eyes through the broken slots in the shades, but now the sun was still so low that he would get to keep enjoying his rest for an hour or so more after I had left.

I kissed his nose, told him I would meet him after the concert. The organizers had booked me into the Grand Hotel Parker’s and we planned to make a night of it, maybe sitting on the balcony until late, watching the city lights and the view over the dark gulf, maybe sipping amaro. The weekend was ahead of us so we could afford to stay up talking, then keep each other up by making love between the luxurious sheets of the five-star hotel until dawn and after a late, leisurely room service breakfast, only take the train back home later in the day.

“I will be there. I will be the first one on my feet to shout bravo,” he mumbled through his sleep, eyes fluttering behind his eyelids.

“Please don’t,” I chuckled. “It’s not that type of venue. Or crowd.”

“You can’t stop me,” he threatened, the rasp in his voice making him sound like a mafia boss.

“If you do that, I will go to bed right after we get to the hotel. There will be no amaro, no keeping me up in other ways.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure. I have ways to persuade you,” he said and hooked one arm around my neck to keep me in place as he stretched his neck to reach up and kiss me on the mouth. I let him sink back onto his pillow and followed his lips; a few more kisses and he could shout whatever he wanted at the Sala dei Baroni that evening.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The prompt was: _Armie/Timmy: “Kissing you anywhere but where you want kiss”_
> 
> (Originally posted on Feb 6, 2020.)

Timmy looks at his hand; the blood on the scraped knuckles has dried by now. It hasn’t bruised yet. It probably will.

But forget the hand or the wall, it was his ego that had taken the worst hit. Just when he’d thought that he’d figured Elio out, Luca had stormed in to interrupt them. _Timmy, this is not Elio, this is not how Elio would act on a long-awaited night of freedom and passion._

But come on, Timmy had been frustrated. Armie had taken forever to get to the part where he was supposed to kiss Timmy—Elio—on the lips. Not that Timmy complained about Armie’s penchance for his neck either, but that was a double-edged sword. Armie clearly knew what that did to Timmy—he went for that one spot often enough, the one to the left of his throat—but no matter how much that turned Timmy on, it never led to anything but him alone in his bed. So who could blame him for getting frustrated, after six weeks of that?

Timmy is about to head for the sink to try and wash away the blood, when someone knocks on his door.

It’s late, so the person didn’t want to use the doorbell and wake up the whole building, but they obviously knew—or hoped?—that Timmy would still be awake.

A quiet call follows before he gets to the door. “Timmy?”

It’s Armie’s voice and Timmy starts to wonder if he’s left something at the restaurant again and Armie is bringing it back, again. It has been the last day of the shoot, but they, along with everyone else, have already said their goodbyes, so that can’t be it.

He lets Armie in, closes the door. Armie looks around, taps on the desk in the quaint room. The two best hotels in Bergamo had been fully-booked and they had had to settle for pensiones, the entire cast and crew spread all over the town.

“About tonight. It didn’t seem like an Elio thing,” Armie starts.

“Please, let’s not talk about this,” Timmy mutters under his breath.

“—but it seemed very much like a Timmy thing. So I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t me or anything?”

Timmy feigns nonchalance. “No, forget it, it’s fine.” It had definitely been Armie, and it isn’t fine, but he isn’t going to tell him that. What’s the point anyway, anymore?

But Armie doesn’t let up that easily. “You can just as well tell me, we’ll go our separate ways in the morning anyway. We’re hardly going to see each other much after this.” He conveniently leaves out the fact that they might spend months doing press together if lightning strikes and the film does well.

“Well, the frustration came from a truthful place,” Timmy starts, hoping to appear professional. ”I thought one would be frustrated if someone is supposed to kiss them and yet, the person keeps doing all the wrong things.” He ends up blushing nevertheless. So much for professionalism.

“The wrong things?”

“No, not wrong…just—frustrating.”

“What was I doing, then?”

The voice comes small. “Kissing my neck.”

“And you didn’t like that? I thought that—”

“I liked it. Too much. And you were taking a long time to get to my mouth which—” Timmy realizes he’s said too much. He drops onto the dusty couch and throws his arm over his face, embarrassed.

Armie comes to sit next to him. “How’s your hand,” he asks softly and gently peels the bruised hand away from his eyes, takes it in both of his to hold. He strokes Timmy’s fingers, caresses the skin on the back of his hand, careful not to touch the scrape but it still makes Timmy wince. “Sorry.” He lifts the hand to his lips and places a kiss on the only knuckle that hasn’t suffered. “Better?”

Timmy looks at his hand at Armie’s lips, nods.

Armie opens his palm that’s getting sweaty by now; kisses there too. Brushes his lips against the inside of Timmy’s wrist. No one has ever done that and Timmy shivers and shifts on the couch.

“Getting frustrated again? Are you going to hit me this time?” Armie teases.

“I’m not going to—” Timmy charges forward, plans to just bump his forehead on Armie’s shoulder but Armie wraps his free arm around him and doesn’t let him pull back. Timmy tilts his face up. Armie’s jaw is so close he’s getting cross-eyed looking at it.

“Not going to hit me? That’s good,” Armie says and rubs Timmy’s back, gets him to relax against him. He leans forward and kisses Timmy’s ear. “Because I was going to do something totally different.”

Timmy hates how he’s getting sucked into this game, how easily Armie gets him to play into it, but he asks anyway, lips getting caught in the collar of Armie’s sweater as he speaks. “Do what?”

“I wanted to make it up to you. The hand, the wait.”

Timmy pulls back, looks at Armie in the face.

“It’s what you were waiting for all evening, right?” Armie asks, kisses him on the cheek.

Timmy wants to say something but his throat has dried up. Armie’s lips travel from his cheek to the corner of his mouth. Timmy feels the air of his words on his lips.

“You were waiting for me to kiss you. Here.”

Timmy’s mouth opens and Armie slides his lips against his, feather-light. Back, and forth, and then stops. Timmy doesn’t dare to move. His eyes are closed and he’s aware of how pathetic this is, how completely he lets himself be at Armie’s mercy but he can’t help it. Then Armie breaks the contact. Timmy blinks and stares at him.

Armie glances at the clock on the wall. It’s almost midnight.

“There’s three minutes left of today. Anything we do today will count as part of the shoot. Tomorrow—there can’t be any of this. Got it?”

Timmy swallows, nods. Nods twice; three, four times just to make sure.

He watches Armie’s eyes that have gotten darker in the scant light; Armie watches Timmy’s lips. “Good.”

It happens so slow that Timmy thinks he must be dreaming. First, it’s Armie’s nose brushing against the side of Timmy’s, then the pressure of his lips on his.

Based on the past few weeks, he knows the feeling of these lips, but they aren’t the same now and they don’t act like they normally do. They don’t do the choreography that was on the page, they have a mind of their own.

They kiss Timmy’s top lip, then again on the other side, gently force his mouth to open so that they can properly press against it. Armie’s tongue slips past them and Timmy feels it on the roof of his mouth, then sliding against his own tongue. Slow. Soft.

He feels dizzy, has forgotten to kiss him back, and a low laugh rumbles in Armie’s throat when Timmy finally surges to respond. It’s the final time, so he feasts, thinking he’ll have to live on this, live on this last time of abandon for the rest of his days.

When they finally pull apart, Timmy glances at the clock, breathless. It’s four minutes past midnight.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on Tumblr at: [angel-in-new-york-city](http://angel-in-new-york-city.tumblr.com)


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